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She read to him some of the last prayers of the church, and spent some hours in such comforts and exhortations as befitted a person about to appear before his Creator. It was now seven-the bell had tolled—and Lady Dacre prepared, with what firmness she might, to meet her trial.

“ Dearest,” she said, “ in five hours this earth with its joys and its sorrows, will have closed on thee for ever. Shall I presume to interrupt the last audience thou wilt have with thy maker, ere thy doom be told thee for ever? I will away, martyrdom though it be; for my presence will draw thee down to earth."

Adieu was not said ; it was expressed from soul to soul; they parted, not to meet again on earth.

Lord Dacre's confessor then came to him, to administer the last rites of the church, and remained till he was summoned to death; and when that final strife had taken place, he declared that he had never known a penitent so well prepared for death as the Lord of Herstmonceux.

He died, with Mantell, Frouds, and Roidon, on the twenty-ninth of June, amidst the universal commiseration of all.



A Legend from a Greek Chronicler.


At Corinth's ancient palace gates
A wistful man in silence waits,
After long absence to embrace

heir of his kingly race

To greet the frank and fearless boy,
Who sent to sojourn for a while
On kindly ministries of joy
In his old grandsire's distant isle,
This day again will reach the door,
He ne'er was bid to leave before.
And this should be, thou dark-browed King,
An hour of love and welcoming-
A guerdon of delight-a price
Paid in thy noble child's return
For the half-willing sacrifice
Of his sweet smiles, which was to earn
The good old Procles' grateful prayers,
And cheat him of his death-bed cares
By the quick beams of playful eyes,
And young

affection's witcheries.
'Tis over-all the hours are spent
Allowed for that experiment-
That honoured guest, so fair and bold
Corcyra's halls no more may hold-
And Procles sadly hath resigned
The last stay of his waning mind,
Henceforth content to pine and die
With no heart-food save memory.

Across the glad seas' careless surge
The precious ship hath hastened,
As though hope's impulses could urge,
By force of orisons unsaid,
Th' unconscious galley's homeward flight;
The winds have done their task aright-
(What wonder if no chance could smite
The head of one reserved to try
A more momentous destiny.)

Brave Ladon hath discharged his trust-
And soon as on Lechæum's strand
The prince and his attendants land,
A merry shout the city stirs
To greet the well-sped voyagers ;
Then onward in his people's view
The youth leads on his retinue-
And now, poor Lycophron, thou must
Uplift that altered, tell-tale face
To meet thy sire's unloved embrace.

(3.) " What ! this a son of mine ? this he, " Whose countenance hath ever been “ Bright as the calm sea's mirror'd sheen; " Who knew not how to frown on me " Oh! can this be my gallant son “ My fond and mirthful Lycophron? “ No word ! no blush ! no look of love ! “ Eyes downward cast, and hand withdrawn ! “ Oh! by the sun that burns above, “ This pride is more than can be borne“ Speak ! rebel ; say thou hast returned “ To show the world the piteous sight “ Of an old king disowned and spurned " By him that was his soul's delightA son estranged in one sad year From love, and shame, and pious fearA father taught to feel the pain "Of shrinking from his child's disdain! Ha! think ye not, good folks, 'tis hard “ A king should on his threshold stand To plead for what he should command, “ Due signs of natural regard ?

" It cannot be I will believe
• He durst not thus defy and grieve
“ His royal sire ; some wizard foe
“ Hath surely sent a changling base
“ To blast me with this foul disgrace.

“ Hence! from my presence go, Dread baleful phantom of my child. “ Hence !-I will be no more beguiled “ By that weird look of speechless hate, “ So cold, and blank, and obdurate. “ Corinthians ! this is not my heir, " For his sweet face could never wear • That stony look of chill despair ; “ Nor, though some woful malady “ Had numbed his speech, and fixed his eye, “ Would child of mine have failed to leap “ Into mine arms, and fondly weep, “ That so he might by tears express “ The pains of such mute happiness.

-“ Ho, Ladon !-what! thou too dismayed “ At this portentous spectacle? “I charge thee, sirrah ! straightly tell, “ Whether till now the boy bewrayed “ Tokens of this impiety.

The sturdy squire made slow reply;
His misty eyes he scarce could raise
To meet his lord's impassioned gaze,
While groans of pity unreprest
Told bow within that rugged breast,
Still kept alive by faith, could lie
A kind, though humble sympathy.
At length his faltering words explained,
How sternly had the prince abstained

From mention of his sire,

Though once, with evil-boding tone, And blood-lit cheeks wherein was shewn Some deep emotion's hidden fire, He murmured,-“ Ladon! how is she, My mother's child, dear Therine ?" Yet looked as if his vagrant mind Were questioning the barren wind; How, as if studying to divine Strange secrets, he would watch the line Of glancing foam the bark did make Along her ever-lengthening wake, Then turn and waywardly affect A fit of loud and brilliant glee, Till a revulsive shudder checked That bitter, wild, self-mockery. But never all the way was heard Of filial thoughtfulness one word ; No touch of nature did redeem That mute forgetfulness of home; And though his mind as in a dream, Thro' many mazes seemed to roam, 'Twas ever strangely lothe to trace The way to its own resting place.

Such was the tale of mournful strain,
Such the dark gift of heavy pain,
The poor reluctant witness brought ;
And thus was Periander taught
The penal yoke he was to take
For ruthless Retribution's sake.
'Twas whispered low, he heard it out,
Endured to yield each happy doubt,
And thenceforth would no longer try
To cling to incredulity.

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